


"S" is for Southside

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Betty lives on the southside, Childhood Sweethearts, Childhood through Young Adult, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Jughead lives on the southside, Neighbors, Playing Doctor, Southside Lifestyle, Toni Topaz is kinda sketch, trailer park life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 21:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17553278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: For Jughead Jones, the best thing about living in Sunnyside Trailer Park is being neighbors with smart, strong, compassionate, thought-provoking Betty Cooper. They dare to dream they can always be beside each other. More than neighbors. More than best friends. There's something more they're leaning towards. Something that starts with the letter “S.”





	"S" is for Southside

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I wrote when I was getting back in the groove for clatter/feet. I hope you enjoy our couple growing up with each other.

“We take care of our own,” FP tells Jughead. They’re doing a barbecue for the girls moving in next door.

Jughead expects them to be snobby and awful, because he’s _seen_ the house they grew up in. It’s nice. Two stories. But their dad left and the mom couldn’t keep it so now they’re stuck with a trailer, right by his family’s.

The three girls are different shades of intense blonde. The mom is a scary Serpent who wears eyeliner almost like Egyptian queens and walks with a different kind of swagger than his mom. She carries her energy in her chin and chest as opposed to Gladys, who swings it in her hips and shoulders like every conversation she’s warming up to bat.

The older girl, Polly, might carry her posture in her back. It’s rigid, upright, and she always seems like she’s two seconds away from bending over in a stretch. She wants to be a _cheerleader,_ and practices cartwheels and backbends and all kinds of flips, but she doesn’t have much to talk about other than her current obsession. Most of the time she just rolls her eyes and lectures people about her latest _issue_.

The younger daughter catches his attention. Betty’s his age, will be in _his_ classes, and her energy flits so quickly inside her body that he has to study her to figure where it is. It’s like a game. Sometimes she keeps it balled in her fists, and he watches to see if she’s going to punch the walls of her trailer the same way he did last week when his dad grabbed him by the face and threw him away.

They walk together to the library and read Nancy Drew out loud to each other. Betty’s voice is soft yet firm, and sometimes when he closes his eyes he can hear it in his head like his favorite song. Betty’s dad wants to get her one book every year, a Nancy Drew she’s never read before, so they don’t read _all_ of them. That way her dad has a chance to get her something she likes. Betty likes a lot of things, though. Jughead doesn’t know why her dad won’t indulge any of _those_ interests, but they find other books to read so it doesn’t _really_ matter in the grand scheme of things.

Normally he goes to Archie’s house to play because there are no annoying little sisters or yelling parents there. Archie’s parents don’t fight so much as _sigh_ when they’re annoyed. Sometimes Jughead stays over, but lately he’s been feeling itchy, the flashlight in his hands and camping gear packed together just reminding him he won’t know what happens this week with Nancy Drew.

“Don’t read it without me,” he begs her.

She loops her pinky with his in a promise, and his breath catches in his throat at the link. It makes him feel invincible.

When he gets back, he forgoes a shower and drags Betty from her journal to finish reading the next chapter of Nancy Drew.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she says, legs bending in rhythm behind her while she lays on her stomach. He’s on his stomach too, their faces angled towards one another. Her breath smells sweet even without having candy, and when he goes home to shower he finds that parts of his body keep _reacting_ to the memory.

They play detective, and eventually, blushing, they start to play doctor. It’s innocent at first, tummy aches and tickling feet, the occasional injury. Betty tries to pretend he got lice from his beanie, and even takes it off. The whole world starts to blur in a panic of black spots, her fingers dancing on his scalp.

“Juggie?”

She must’ve called his name before when he couldn’t hear her, because her eyes are big and worried when he comes to. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, carefully putting his hair and the beanie back in place, kissing his temple. “All better.”

His throat feels tight, like he’s going to cry, and Betty must be able to sense it because she gets a panicked look on her face and turns around, hands on her shorts as she complains about a butt ailment. “It just keeps getting bigger,” she says, and bares it to him.

He laughs, a few sneaky tears making their way out during their jubilance. He palms her butt, _pushing_ it to get smaller. Not that it needs to. Her butt is a great size. The game gets stranger the next few times they play it. They use a pillow to pretend to be pregnant, like Fangs’s older sister is. They try to figure out where the baby comes from on her. “It’s so small though,” they wonder.

“I think the boy stretches it,” Betty says, mouth twisting like she’s not particularly looking forward to it. “It probably hurts.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Betty.”

“I don’t think you’d _want_ to,” she says, biting her lip and looking away. Maybe people just hurt each other. Their parents seem to do a good job of it. Jughead and Betty would be kinder, he’s sure of it.

 

Archie comes over to go by Sweetwater. He stares at Betty when she joins them in her blue and white striped two-piece. Archie pulls at her until she pushes him off, and Jughead gets so sick of it that he actually holds him under, encircling him so tightly that he can’t use his arms. “Leave her alone,” he warns him.

But it’s like Archie can’t help it, seeking touch instead of play. Jughead splashes both them. Little ripples, playful pushes, and occasionally giant cannonball-worthy waves that send the other person sputtering. But Archie splashes Betty like he wants it to get in her eyes or up her shorts. When Achie tackles her underwater, his arms always go right around her chest. That’s not _right_ , Jughead thinks, and tugs Archie’s shorts off when Betty comes up with tears in her eyes. Shocked, scrambling, Archie pulls himself together, and learns how to play with her nicely, apologizing if he actually hurt her.

When they’re laying in the grass, Jughead closes his eyes and lets the sun bake the sand and dirt onto his ribs, which are visible no matter how many bags of carrots and chips he sneaks. “You have beauty marks,” Betty muses, knees bent, hands behind her head.

“So do you.”

He notices the way the water clings to her skin, little sparkles that magnify the radiance below. It’s all distracting from the essence of _her_ , and he taps the sun spots on her stomach and chin. She laughs, turning her face away, and he has such a swell of warmth run through him he’s afraid he’s gonna be sick.

“I’m gonna go back in,” he mutters, quickly jogging until his lower half is submerged, Archie halfheartedly asking him to wait up. Betty sits up, watching him wade waist-deep in the river their town is _sort of_ named after. Being twenty feet apart doesn’t help any. Jughead has to actively search for ways to rid himself of the tense fever her stare ignites in him.

Eventually, he confesses he doesn’t feel well. Betty wants to help, but Archie figures out what’s going on and says he needs to rub it out or think of something gross like rotten eggs. That boys _do_ that kind of thing sometimes. It’s called a finding a _release,_ and he should designate a pair of socks for it.

No one really has extra money lying about, but Betty somehow gets him a new set. “These are for your _feet_ ,” she specifies, ears flaming despite her determination. “Use your old ones for…whatever. I hope you feel better.”

The softness in his hands feels amazing in a much calmer way than the _release_ eventually does. Even though he’s using his old socks, he always thinks of her when he experiments. He thinks of her every time he puts his socks on, too.

Things start getting _awkward_ as she gets older. Polly’s never hung out with the guys, so he never noticed the age divide that happens once changes start happening. Fangs snaps Betty’s bra strap, more in curiosity than legitimate malice, but she turns around and socks him so hard he has a bruise for a week. Jughead sweats and smells and gets red bumps on his back no matter how many times he showers. Betty wrinkles her nose at him sometimes but hugs him anyway, accidentally smearing his shirt with makeup. She blushes pink when he says she doesn’t need it.

She starts wearing overalls more, working on motorcycles and cars on the weekend visits with her dad. Sometimes she comes back with greasy fingers, Alice yelling at her to clean up from the trailer steps. If Betty spots Jughead watching, she runs up with big grin on her face and dots his nose with engine oil. “Something to remember me by.”

“Like I’d ever forget,” he smirks, wiping it off with the back of his hand.

People start calling her his _girlfriend_. They roll their eyes, but somewhere along the way he stops getting embarrassed and starts feeling a flush of pride that they’re considered _together_. He gives her his jacket when they go to the movies. She settles in closer to him than anyone else at the bonfires. They don’t _do_ anything, not even go to school dances. They just wait by each other’s lockers. Read. Write. Talk. She’s his best friend. He does sometimes lose her in the shuffle of the lunchroom, where he gets drawn by the rough-housing and crude jokes of his peers on the off-day he doesn’t get to talk about books and movies and thoughts with Betty.

When Sweet Pea starts pulling on her ponytail, Jughead gets a distinctly awful feeling that something bad is going to happen. “You wanna take a spin?” he asks, two inches taller than most of the other boys in their grade. He already rides a motorcycle.

Betty’s gaze flicks over to Jughead, like he’s somehow a participant in this show. “I don’t have a helmet.”

“You can wear mine, scaredy cat.”

She shakes her head, smile shuffling in on itself as she backs away into her trailer. “I better not.”

Betty’s ridden on the back of Jughead’s motorbike without a helmet, her arms wrapped around him and ponytail flapping behind her. FP even took a few polaroids for him. They look like a team, or like a couple from a movie. But Alice doesn’t know about _that._

Alice is usually too tired to chase away all the boys that come looking for Betty and Polly. The older Cooper girl usually sneaks out for her escapades…not that it’s _hard_ , considering Alice is usually at the Wyrm or the Register. Polly even dated a _Ghoulie_ for a hot second, but he dumped her after about three weeks when it became too much of a _drag_.

Betty and Jughead sure saw a lot of them kissing against the side of the trailer, though, the guy’s hands usually wandering somewhere against her backside.

 

It’s cold, and it’s late, and they’re still young, but Jughead likes the way Betty’s foot is almost in his lap, the way the flames light up her sin. Their fingers are still sticky from marshmallows when he sucks the charred flavor from his thumb.

“Do you think it feels good? Kissing?”

He studies her carefully. “It might be. It looks kinda gross but…if the other person is good at it,” he shrugs. She closes up into herself a bit, the glow of the fire highlighting the water in her eyes. The hoodie she’s wearing isn’t zipped up all the way, and he has half a mind to do it for her, knowing how cold she gets.

“What if I’m not good at it?”

“You’re good at everything.” He sees the way her spirit dims, so he reaches out and rubs her leg. “You work hard, is what I meant. We could practice…if you want.”

Lip caught between her teeth, Betty turns to him. She releases them, her green eyes dark and warm and just as fascinating as her pink lips. He wonders if he’s just made a giant mistake or the best decision of his life. But Betty looks eager, hopeful to practice. Maybe a little scared, based on the way she’s shivering too. Instinctively, he rubs her shoulders, hoping to transfer some of the warmth.

“Thank you, Juggie.”

He’s not sure for what.

Digging his heels in on either side of her, Jughead drags his butt close enough to that her breath tickles his cheeks. Betty’s soft bleached hair is down, twisted away from her face and gathered along her shoulder. He’s not sure if he should touch it. He kind of wants to. Just wrap it around his finger and bring her close. But he’s not smooth like guys in the movies. He’ll probably hurt her or get it tangled or something nuts.

Betty glances at his lips, then back up at his eyes with such fear and excitement that he’s sure she’s seen the inside of his soul. Without a second thought as to which fingers are still sticky, Jughead puts his hands on either side of her face and leans in. He’s holding his breath when their skin presses together. Anxiety overcomes him, his lips making the puckering noise as he pulls back, almost too quickly for her to respond. Her eyes pop open in surprise, and he panics that he’s done it wrong.

“It’s okay, Juggie,” she says, her own hands coming up at the base of his neck, drawing him close again like their bodies are the waves and the shore at Sweetwater River, and he just sort of sinks into it. This time they go slow. Trying the upper lip. The lower. He thinks it’s called _sucking face_ for a reason and tries it a little. That definitely feels better. A low hum builds in his throat, something he’s sure reverberates against her skin. Once he feels her tongue swipe tentatively against his lips, all careful curiosity goes out the window in a surge of _want_. He _devours_ her, bites her lips, sucks her face. He thinks he’s seen people kiss each other’s necks, but he’s so swept up that he had access to her mouth that he’s afraid to try anywhere else. They make out until it’s almost just a spit-fest, dribble passing between when they take a breath.

“We better stop,” she says, eyelashes fluttering open, finger pads pressed against his Adam’s apple.

He swallows, letting her fingers bob in the pregnant pause before he says, “Okay.”

He never really wants to stop.

She scrambles up first, wiping her butt from the layer of dirt before offering him her hand. As she pulls him up, a whiff of that burning wood smell hits him and he wants to cling to her again. “How was it?”

She smiles, with teeth. “I really liked it.”

He wipes his hands on his jeans. “Me too.”

They don’t say anything else about it, just carefully put out the fire and let their clothes be bathed in the smell of smoke. They say goodnight as always, and Jughead has to take a lot of deep breaths to try and get himself to bed. Lately he’s not sure where his parents will be sleeping, where _he’ll_ be sleeping, but just knowing Betty is next door is enough to help him get where he needs to be.

 

“You have _no_ self control!” Gladys yells. The hard clink of bottles hitting a trash bag and the cheap linoleum floor is a harsh wake-up call. Still bleary from sleep, Jughead wipes his face. Jellybean’s drawing in the corner, giant headphones on, flinching at the noise but otherwise just glaring at it. Like it’s a nuisance more than anything else.

From the way the sun blares in through the windows, it’s nicer today, and Jughead considers going to Sweetwater River with Archie. Maybe playing in Pickens Park. As morning breath hits his tongue, he longs for the comfort of marshmallows. He snakes past his parents to raid the cupboard for the last remaining jumbo ones, the pasty dry uncooked quality working his jaw too hard for the gooey satisfaction he’s searching for.

So he showers, brushes his teeth, and knocks on Betty’s door. “You wanna head out somewhere?”

“Yeah.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground as they hike aimlessly behind the woods, searching for a mystery for the umpteenth time. They stand together awkwardly for a minute, and he’s not sure if he should kiss her again. He wants to, but it feels different standing up in daylight. People can _see_ them. She might see _him_ differently. So his mouth flutters open, fingers tugging at his suspenders as he suggests they seek higher ground.

Anxiety beats hard in his veins as she climbs a tree for a better vantage point, a hideaway. He’d meant they should find a hill, go further into the woods. Or maybe to Archie’s treehouse, which has a ladder and nails so they don’t tumble or break. Maybe Jug wouldn’t feel this gut-wrenching worry watching Archie climb a regular tree, but he can’t tell Betty to stop, or she’ll get mad and say it’s because she’s a girl. But it’s not that. It’s infinitely more embarrassing, because he deems her precious, no matter how strong she is.

She’s smiling and talking about a nest when the branch she’s on snaps with a roar. It’s something out of a movie: Betty slides, and she almost makes it to the main trunk, nails cleaving into shredded bark. Jughead feels like he’s moving in slow motion, unable to reach to her by the time she hits the ground. The thud is the worst thing he’s ever heard, and his stomach rolls.

“Betty?”

“I’m fine,” she sniffles, but by the way liquid drips out her nose and eyes he knows she’s in pain.

Once they get back, Alice starts fussing. “What did I tell you? The higher you climb, the harder you fall!” Her mom’s hands are wrapped around her uninjured arm, squeezing and shaking her. Betty refuses to meet her mother’s eyes. He's not sure he can stand to see the pain in them.

Jughead slinks back to the trailer, shutting himself in his room and ignoring Jellybean’s toys on the floor set to booby trap him. A stray lego Archie left over from last time jabs at his feet, and the pain shoots up so sharp and intense that he kicks the building block across the room. It rattles in surprise. Jughead puts his fists into his eyes and cries.

 

Avoiding Betty is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He tells her he’s busy. He wears more layers. He goes out with friends he knows she doesn’t like just so she won’t tag along. They’re _okay_ , Fangs and Sweet Pea. They’re not the _best_. They’re not as goofy as Archie, their parents not as kind and engaging as Fred and Mary. Most of the time they play-fight or skip rocks or climb in the quarry. They’re all fairly strong, so there’s no chance of anyone getting hurt. Not really. Scrapes and bruises, yeah. He gets a pretty bad one on his knee and Fangs gets some on his back and no one even knows where Sweet Pea’s bruises come from, but often they’re on his fists and jaw. It doesn’t seem to bother anyone.

Fangs and Sweet Pea hit each other and say it’s practice for when they become Serpents. When Sweet Pea punches Jughead it feels like it’s inevitable, something beyond either of their control. Jellybean tries to play-fight with Jughead too, for when _they_ get their jackets. He’s not really sure he wants to _be_ a Serpent, but he supposes in a family full, it’s not something easily avoided. In a lot of ways he already is one.

Alice is a Serpent, but Polly isn’t, because she wants to “keep her options open,” which probably means she wants to keep dating from all sorts of gangs. Archie thinks the gang is risky, but he tries out for teams that earn jackets too.

Betty tells them to be true to their hearts and be safe, which is so after-school special and perfect that Jughead always rolls his eyes and has a sarcastic comeback when she does it. He gets the feeling the “safe” part means she doesn’t like the idea. There’s a little line between her brows when she gets worried, and she usually gets it when she sees either of them rough-housing with anyone besides each other.

 

Vinyl and the blank page ahead help him recharge from his parents’ bickering, from the injuries on his arms and hands, from the hunger that never seems to abate. Some days he even needs a reprieve from his bedroom window, where he can sometimes see his best friend singing to her favorite songs before someone else comes in and disrupts everything.

Betty drops into his booth.

“I’m writing,” he says, shoulders tucked up to his ears.

“I’m reading.” She’s been taking tests lately, fingers pressed against her sleeked-back hair and teeth burrowed in her lips.

“But you’ll distract me.”

She ignores him, her toes occasionally tapping his under the table. They share fries like they always do. But they’re not talking. Not really. The crease between her brow stays fairly constant, whether she looks at the bandages on his hands or the pages in front of her. He just keeps looking at her lips, her wrist, and wondering just how much pressure they can take.

 

Sweet Pea, Fangs, and Jughead all pledge the gang together before they can be asked into it, shouting the chants, grabbing the viper. FP looks sweaty, almost proud. Gladys just studies him like she’s trying to see if he’s soft. Jug hears her talking about it sometimes with his dad through the too-thin trailer walls. “I’m worried he hasn’t got the right stuff for this.” But he swears he does.

He pushes hard, even working out with Archie, which is something he’s never been interested in. When his shirts get tighter, he takes to wearing his undershirt, resisting the urge to flex when Betty’s gaze lingers on his arms. Archie’s more ripped, anyway, with abs that are their own mountain range and don’t seem to appreciate normal shirts either.

Jellybean _loves_ taking care of Hot Dog with him and his friends. The Andrews don’t think a Vegas/Hot Dog playdate is a good idea because no one knows if Hot Dog has his shots, but Jughead thinks Hot Dog doesn’t mind playing with Serpent kids instead anyway.

Betty comes out of her trailer with a curious look on her face, and Hot Dog sniffs right into crotch.

“Sorry,” he blushes, but their trailers are too close for tightening the leash to do much to keep him away.

“You got the dog?”

“Yeah. Initiation.”

Her big green eyes burn into him, and he feels the sizzle of accusation. “I thought you said you weren’t going to join them.”

“So? A lot of people here have,” he shrugs.

“I thought you weren’t like everyone else.”

“I’m not.”

_They’re not._

“But...you’re going to let them beat you up? Boss you around?”

“I’m not _letting_ anyone do anything,” he snaps. “I’m choosing initiation. You told me to do what felt right, and this _feels_ right _._ I can back out if I want to.” He’s not even sure why he adds the last part.

“I always thought…” _you were better than that_ , he fills in. She bites her lip, glaring at the ground. “You don’t need them, Jug. We can stick together. Polly’s not a Serpent, and she’s in high school.”

“Polly’s dated enough gang members that nobody messes with her,” he sighs. “If she was ever in trouble she could always just shack up with another one.”

Betty folds her arms across her chest. “My sister…she’s strong. She can handle herself.”

“It’s different for girls. You're not going to get jumped by a Ghoulie. This is basically our only option for an after-school club. At least this way we’ll have someone, if something goes wrong. Someone will have our backs. Will help us.”

“What about me? What about Archie? The Andrews? Don't you think they'll help you, Jug?”

“Mrs. Andrews wants them to move to Chicago. Archie’s already at a different school getting busy with sports. And you...” he trails off, not sure what to say.

Betty stiffens. He can almost see the fine hairs on her arm prickling to attention.

“Screw you, Jughead.”

It feels like a slap, and he’s so startled that he doesn’t snap out of it until the trailer door shuts back on itself. She’s never sworn at him before. _Ever_.

Hot Dog yaps at the door, whining and pawing for her to come back and play. Jughead feels acid boil in his gut the for two whole hours, eroding his life until he finally catches her leaving again.

“Hey!” he calls through the trailer walls. Everyone knows they’re thin enough to carry. Her shoulders jerk up, but she seems torn about stopping, so he swings out the door without any shoes to catch up to her. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the Serpents. I just…it seems like the right thing to do.”

Her anger seems to melt into frustration. “Why, Jug?” _Why have you been avoiding me?_

“They’re…they’re my friends. Our family. They’ll protect us.”

She shakes her head. “My family’s broken, Jug. So are the Serpents. They’re _using_ you.” _They’re taking you._

“For what?” he scoffs. They haven’t had him do anything but babysit a dog, and it’s not like they can exploit that him and Betty like to write together. Betty might not get that, though. She doesn’t play the arcade at the Wyrm or go with her mom to the meetings. His dad’s the Serpent “King” so…Jug probably hears more than he should, which still isn’t a _lot_.

She pleads with him, sounding more like a movie than real life, and he finds his fists tightening and his head pounding and he just goes up and holds her tight against his body, inhaling the pine scent of her soap. “Please, can we stop fighting?”

“I don’t want to stop fighting, Jug.”

With a big sigh, his arms drop. “Where are you headed?”

“Archie’s.”

If that isn’t enough of a punch to the gut.

“You guys are close now?”

She folds her arms across her chest, muttering, “You haven’t been around.”

“Sorry.”

He walks her to Archie’s, and she doesn’t invite him in until they’re already there. They listen to the Swiss Family Robinson on cassette. They’re already a few chapters in, so Jughead’s kind of lost, but Betty catches him up on the general summation. Archie makes her laugh, and Jughead feels like he’s melting into the shadows, so he pulls himself into a more open position on the couch. Betty notices, but looks like she struggles with the idea of joining him before finally taking her place at his side, their limbs intertwined. He plays with her hair, and after they walk home he kisses her against the side of the trailer, their mouths open and prying.

“Does your wrist still hurt?” he whispers, already feeling wetness on his eyelashes.

Her hips push into his, her fingers in his jacket. “No.”

“Can I still kiss you?” It’s late, but he needs to ask it anyways.

“Yes.”

He kisses her until Polly hisses at them through the window that Alice will be home soon.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she nods, and leaves him with a kind of heaviness he isn’t used to bearing when he gets back in the trailer. His jacket is ready, his parents tell him. It’ll be big at first, but he’ll grow into it.

 

He purposely times the initiation for a weekend he knows Betty will be at her dad’s. The beating is worse than he imagined. Halfway through when someone drags him by his tank top only to blow him away with a fist, he thinks _this isn’t worth it._

But he pictures Betty on the ground, tears in her eyes, cradling her wrist, and finds the strength to stand.

Blood’s smeared across his face and he can’t breathe through his nose but he’s quickly embraced by slaps on the back and shoved into a kitchen chair. His dad carefully draws his tattoo, sober for once, and his mom seems like she _believes_ that Jughead’s worthy of it. Jellybean watches with eager anticipation, tracing the Serpent stencil with her fingers. He’s seen her draw it on herself with marker, trying to figure out where she wants it.

“That’s my girl,” Gladys often chuckles, ruffling her braids.

FP seems more or less indifferent to Jellybean’s doodles, to the hair braids she experiments with because long hair is too easy for enemies to grab onto. Jughead swallows, thinking of Betty’s pretty, soft ponytail.

 

When Betty comes back, she practically leaps out of the car in eagerness to see him, the light in her eyes fading as it traces the patched-up scrapes and bruises on his face.

“Jug…”

His smile cracks and bleeds.

The horror on her face makes him feel like he’s punched again, the balm only coming when she wraps herself around him.

“I’m okay,” he promises her, just grateful to have her back in his arms.

“I’m going to kill them, Jug.”

The words steal the breath out of his lungs. Maybe she doesn’t understand…

His hands strokes her hair, and eventually he’s able to coax her down, set up their favorite little pillow fort on her couch to watch old movies. She fusses over him, constantly moving around cushions and her body, but he assures her it’s okay, even when his ribs throb and ache.

 _I love you_ , he wants to say, but makes a joke about _never liking his nose anyway_ instead.

“ _I_ like your nose,” Betty frowns, glaring at each injury like it’s a personal insult to her very being. She shifts, unsettled, next to his wrapped tattoo.

They don’t kiss, his lips are still too bruised for that, but they spend the whole day together.

“I feel like I don’t know my dad anymore,” she confesses into his chest, like she’s speaking straight to his heart.

“I’m sorry, Betty. Parents can be crazy.”

“I’m not gonna be one then,” she sniffs, wiping her face on the S mark on his shirt. _Southside,_ Archie teases him when he wears it. _No, SARCASTIC_ , he usually mocks back. His mother used to say it was for _Skinny_ , and his sister thought _Stinky._ Betty, pawing through the dictionary, suggested _sanguine: optimistic or positive, especially in an apparently bad or difficult situation._ It also means _bloody_ or _bloodthirsty,_ which all seem to fit.

Maybe now it stands for Serpent.

“I’m crazy enough as it is.”

He tilts her chin up, looking deep into the meadow green that seems to hold every dream he’d love to make a reality. “We’re all crazy.”

It’s a bad idea to kiss her, so he presses the tip of his thumb to her lips, smiling when she kisses it, nuzzling her cheek into his palm.

 _Smitten,_ he thinks.

  


It’s an exhausting few weeks. Alice catches Polly in some kind of lie, and they’ve been fighting nonstop. “You are not going to throw your life away!” Keeps rocketing through the walls.

“It’s _my_ life!”

Betty keeps running to the library or Archie’s because the Jones trailer isn’t far enough away and her dad’s house is too far. Hal tries to keep her, but Betty never wants to stay. Apparently Alice has been trying to get both girls transferred for an honors program where they’d spend half the day at Riverdale High. Technically, Jughead might be able to go there too, since their trailers are pretty much right on the border and his grades are good enough to try. But it kind of weirds him out to be somewhere so clearly not meant for him.

“I’d be going there too,” Betty reminds him. But if feels like running away. From their families. From the Southside. Maybe she needs distance of some kind, and maybe he ought to have it too. They’ve always been so close that it seems impossible not to grow up alongside her. It feels like he’s losing her to something she always should’ve had. A chance.

He’s not going to hold her back from that.

Acclimating to one new school is weird enough without adding transportation issues on top of it. So he encourages her, congratulates her on getting in, and then sits in his trailer stewing about it, wishing he could just kiss Betty against her trailer again without feeling like he’s weighing her down.

Betty’s absence is notable on the way to school. Like the soundtrack missing on a famous movie. The atmosphere doesn’t feel quite right. Jughead’s mind wanders, and he falls behind Fangs and Sweet Pea until they tell him to snap out of it. Surprisingly, he easily falls into the ridiculousness of high school. It’s so _big._ So _open_.

There are a million cool people to talk to, and he finds he doesn’t itch for his laptop as badly as he thought he would. Him and Fangs do a taste test of almost everything on the cafeteria menu, their feast spread before them. A flutter of pink surprises him, and a girl with fishnet stockings plops into the chair next to him. “What are we having?”

Her name’s Toni, and they have a few classes together. They haven’t hung out in the park because normally she lives with her parents, but her grandpa is Old Man Topaz, the one with the wildcat statue outside of his trailer. He likes that statue.

“You should come over. I’ll show it to you sometime.”

He wonders at that, because it’s already outside. But maybe there are more things inside, he reasons, and keeps chatting with his new friends.

Betty misses lunch in her scramble to get back to Southside on time, and he can hear her stomach growling in class together. Even pressing her arm on her abdomen doesn’t seem to alleviate the pressure coming from inside of her, and he feels terrible that he doesn’t have a spare dollar to get her something out of the mess of a vending machine after splurging on the feast with Fangs.

Archie comes by after school and tosses a football with them during rounds of “How was your first day?” Polly and Alice aren’t home yet, so they all manage to cram in Betty’s trailer where they make obscene amounts of popcorn on the stove and eat until they’re almost sick with it.

“Toni, huh?” Betty remarks, licking a bit of salt from her index finger.

“Yeah. She has pink hair. You’ll like her.”

Betty doesn’t seem so sure.

“Would _I_ like her?” Archie asks, brushing his popcorn flakes off his shirt and onto the floor, freezing when he catches on to Betty’s exasperation.

“I don’t think she’s your type,” Jughead chuckles offhandedly.

“Why not?” Betty and Archie ask.

He scrambles for a reason, considering he doesn’t really know her that well. “Aren’t pink and orange kinda color-clashing?” Betty frowns as Archie waves it off, citing that there are plenty of other girls in Riverdale with non-pink hair for him to date.

Most days Betty walks to school with Archie and walks back with Jughead (and sometimes the rest of the Serpents, even if they do tend to box her out a bit). There’s a little tupperware she packs in her bag with whatever the sandwich or salad of the day is, but sometimes she still doesn’t get back in time to eat with the crew. Even still, she’ll offer him chips or grapes or whatever snack she’s able to afford that week.

“How does Polly get back?” he asks.

“She spends her lunch break with some guy,” Betty frowns, face turning beet red. “And before you ask, _no_ , I do not want to be in his car after they do whatever it is they do in there.”

He supposes he _could_ pick her up on his bike, but then they’d _both_ miss most of lunch, and he wouldn’t be able to walk to school with the pack. Bikes tend to get vandalized on school grounds.

“It’s not a big deal. It’s fine,” she sighs, picking at her turkey-on-rye monstrosity. Nobody cares if people eat during class here. She hands him half her sandwich with the resignation that she just doesn’t have much of an appetite these days. Of course he takes it, but he makes sure she finishes hers, too.

Maybe it’s all the running back and forth, but she gets tired. Less talkative, inquisitive. She has so much homework and she’s always thinking and sometimes it feels like he’s just playing catch-up, like when he was listening to Swiss Family Robinson in the garage. They take naps after school…together, if no one else is home. A flashing light draws his attention when she’s breathing heavily against his side. Her phone lights up with a message preview from _Kevin_. It says, “Hey gorgeous! Want to come over and do our lab homework?”

_Gorgeous?_

He glances at the admittedly beautiful girl with rose-tipped skin in his arms and wonders if _he’s_ supposed to be calling her that. But they tend to use other adjectives. Strong. Smart. Brave. Kind.

A knotted feeling takes hold of his stomach, and he cradles Betty against him a little tighter.

 

The Serpents call him and his friends around more often, and a few more kids want to join with the new year. His dad says to only hang out with the good ones, the loyal ones, the ones who are either tough or good at taking orders and _really_ want it.

“Do you think your gal Betty would wanna join?”

“She’s not my girl, dad.” He thinks of the faceless _Kevin_. Gorgeous. Girlfriend. The words tumble in his brain until they’re meaningless and everything all at the same time. “But no. It’s not her thing.”

“All right,” he shrugs. “But if she ever changes her mind…”

Jughead spins a soda can in his hands, wondering if she ever _would_. Don a leather jacket and be his girl. Officially. Not just be called that by the random friend who rolls their eyes when they sit too close. Or is labeling everything they have too conventional for whatever's been growing between them? Should there be a new word? A different title?

Toni climbs into the seat next to him one leg at a time, plaid skirt short around her thighs much like a plaid shirt is hanging around his legs. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing. Just…my buddy Archie wants me to go to his football game, but I’ve got something going on.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to like football.”

“I don’t.”

“So what do you like?” she asks, carefully resting her elbows on the table until her chest seems swollen.

“Marshmallows,” he blurts out, wishing he had some right now.

“Aw, you’re sweet!” Her fist knocks into his shoulder. After time with Sweet Pea and Fangs, he doesn’t wince, but it is weird to be punched by a girl. He frowns at the spot, rubbing it with a mock-wounded expression. “Why don’t we go to the Twilight tomorrow night? I bet it’ll take your mind off things.”

Betty will be at her dad’s, and he doesn’t have any Serpent duties that night, so he agrees. Nothing wrong with a movie and some friends.

He doesn’t realize how fucked up it is until she insists on borrowing a car. “You have to get the full experience, Juggie. Don’t worry, I know how to work a stick.”

 _So does Betty,_ he wants to add, but saliva is already coating his throat and he’s nervous as hell, hoping she invited someone— _anyone_ else, but when he asks about it she says that they’ll be _there_. Other guys are physically present, hanging out by the fence, but Toni turns big brown eyes on Jughead and says she really wants to get to know _him_.

“There’s not much to know,” he shrugs, folding his arms and staring straight ahead at the screen.

“I doubt that,” she says wriggling out of her jacket until there’s just a thin black lace camisole underneath. It’s…bizarre. Betty’s never tried to _seduce_ him. She’s never _needed_ to. He’s just _there_. _Hers_ for the taking. Toni gets him some snacks, and when she’s out of the car he almost bolts for it, but that feels like a crummy thing to do too. He texts Betty. _“Hey. I miss you.”_

“ _I miss you too,”_ she texts back almost instantaneously. “ _Sometimes I wish we could get away from here._ ”

“ _I know what you mean_.”

She tries to call him, but that’s right when Toni comes back, so he ignores the call and helps her with the soda and shit. It’s decent conversation, kinda snarky, but he keeps hoping someone will come back and sit with them. “Wanna watch from the hood of the car or the fence?” he asks, desperate for some air.

“No, I prefer sitting in the car. It offers some protection from the elements. More privacy.” Her fingers lift her curly tendrils above her head, letting them fall in a showy display over the headrest. She wants to make sure he’s watching, and he supposes he is, even it’s with trepidation. He’s afraid of what this is. “Speaking of protection…” His whole body lights up like a police siren. “You Serpents have quite the reputation.”

“Yeah…um--”

“A girl could use some of that…”

Her fingers work onto his knee, chest leaning over the console.

His body snaps against the car door with the urgency of a rubber band, fumbling and tumbling his way out. “Don’t. If you want protection, you can join the Serpents, but I don’t… _use_ people that way.”

Eyes dark, unreadable, she frowns. “I…want to.”

He glances at his phone, thinking of Betty, fingers still on the catch of the door. “I, um, there’s someone else.”

“Are you two...official?” she asks, leaning closer. “Because sometimes there’s still room to play.”

Pulling the escape latch, Jughead tumbles backwards out the car, barely able to land one foot on the ground.

The walk back to the trailer is frustrating. And _long_. He’s embarrassed about how everything went down. Toni’s tried calling him but he doesn’t have the heart to answer or sit with balled fists while they watch a movie in the awkwardness of what he escaped. So he shuts his phone off, feeling stupid and angry about the entire set-up. When he gets home, he showers and tells JB to put in her headphones because he’s going to bed.

 

When he wakes up, he has a text from Toni, the most recent one reading, “Sorry if I freaked you out. Let me know if you still want to hang.”

Annoyed, he flips through the rest. Betty’s messages stand out. _“Sorry, I just wanted to talk to you.”_ Later, _“Are you okay?”_ Then, “ _Jug please answer_ ” … “ _call me_ ”

“Shit,” he mutters, dialing Betty as quickly as he can. “Hey. Are you doing okay?”

She’s not.

Exhaustion scrapes her throat, words and thoughts cloudy. It’s almost impossible to feel like he can shine light on anything that’s going on. It’s probably too late for the conversation, but he tells her about his almost-date with Toni. She asks him _why_. He asks about _Kevin_. About compliments. About lab partners and Riverdale High and if she’s too good for him anymore and if he has something to be guilty about even though nothing happened and she starts crying and explaining that Kevin’s gay and it’s just fucking _late_ so he tells her to get some rest and he’ll talk to her when she gets home. He’s jealous over a classmate calling her _gorgeous_. Guilty over going to the movies with a girl from school.

It's so  _stupid_ and it should be so simple. Maybe it is. Maybe he's just too tired to understand it all right now.

Running his hands over his face feels like raking his brain. He decides to sleep on it, see what happens in the morning when he might be able to process things properly.

Betty gets back the next day, green eyes sparkling and puffy and nose swollen like she has a cold.

“Hey. Can I help you with anything?” he asks, knowing that all she has is her backpack because her parents insist on keeping some clothes at her dad’s.

Polly shoulder-checks him on her way by.

 _Rude_ , he thinks, and starts when he realizes Hal is glaring at him too. All the Coopers seem unusually displeased with him. Betty sniffs, crossing her arms, and shakes her head.

“We should go inside.”

Unsure where to stand, he hovers in her doorway.

“I’m going out.” Polly’s voice is light, clipped, and she _accidentally_ slaps Jughead with her elbow on the way out. A ragged Betty calls her name sharply, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

“What the hell is going on?”

Betty pushes her hair back from her face. She sinks onto her bed and doesn’t quite motion for him to follow, which makes his chest feel big and awkward and swollen. “They know you’re a Serpent and they know about Toni.”

“ _How?_ ”

“I got freaked out when you didn’t answer…when you said you wanted to get away…and I asked Polly if she knew what was happening with the Serpents that night. She texted one of her friends and he…I guess he saw something.”

“Saw _what_? Nothing _happened_! She got a little handsy and said she wanted to join the Serpents, so I told her not to use me but to do it her way.”

Fresh streaks of salty tears drip down her cheeks. They might as well be burrowing into his chest.

He murmurs her name, squatting until they’re eye-level, his hands on her knees.

“Polly told me…my mom told me…what girls have to do to get into the Serpents.”

“What?” he asks, fingers gently splaying her cheeks in the hopes if he clears the current tear tracks that new ones won’t form. “Isn’t it the same as for the boys?”

“No.” The one syllable is like a giant push. Not against him, but the organization itself. “They have to get naked, Jug. Or do some kind of…stripper dance, and usually they’re encouraged to sleep with someone in the gang, or related to someone in the gang. Bare themselves for the cause.”

It’s baffling to him that thought even exists. “That can’t be right.”

“Why would my _mom_ , a _Serpent_ , tell us that otherwise?”

“To make you scared of joining!” He stands, hands shoving into his hair, tugging and dislodging his beanie. Rampant thoughts rage through his head. _Jellybean. Betty_. His mom? Alice? Maybe Polly hadn’t refused to join just so she could swap spit with whomever she wanted. There’s usually a dancer of some kind on the pole at the Wyrm, but only past 10pm, when most of the kids are ushered out.

“Fuck,” he swears, pressing on his face. “Fuck!”

“Juggie,” she pleads, but he’s slapping the door, storming to the trailer, and yelling at his parents.

“Are you fucking kidding me with this? What about JB? You’ve been encouraging her from the start! You’re gonna let your daughter get up there and strip in front of a bunch of grown-ass men and her _family_?”

“People who are already related don’t watch the girls,” FP squirms. “But what would you rather have her do? Get the shit beat out of her, like we did?”

“YES! Or…no! _Something!_ ” His head’s swimming, remembering Archie dragging Betty under the water and her bathing suit straining against his arms. How he’d felt this strange urge to strangle his best friend, to protect his best _girl_.

What was sexist? What was _wrong_?

All of it? Some of it?

He imagines if he’d been forced to strip in front of Alice and Penny and Mustang and Fangs. It would’ve been… _humiliating_. Like he wasn’t _earning his stripes_ , he was selling his body.

Is that what he did when he let them beat the shit out of him? Demeaned and debased himself for their pleasure, just so they knew they could have him at his worst? Knowing that, could Jughead brutalize someone when the next rounds of initiates came through?

“I can’t be here anymore.” The air feels too thin. Too hot.

He grabs a duffel bag and stuffs belongings into it, Jellybean watching with wide, confused eyes.

“You don’t have to do any of that bullshit, JB. You can come stay with me.”

But she’s too young to understand, she’s afraid of leaving. The world is still _hers_ to conquer, and she thinks she’s strong enough that it wouldn’t break her. He tells her to look up toxic masculinity and women’s rights and hauls all his essentials out, leaving the leather jacket.

“You’re being kind of a prude,” his mother sighs in a faint cloud of weed. “Where are you gonna go?”

“Out.”

It’s obvious where his first stop is, but Betty’s already anxiously waiting for him outside. “Let’s go.”

“Are we leaving?” she asks, voice tight enough that he can tell she means _forever_.

“Not yet,” he sighs, and pulls her arms around him until it feels safe enough to take off on the bike towards Archie’s house.

Once his sleeping arrangements are sorted, Mary and Fred have a _talk_ with him. Archie and Betty are there too, but he knows it’s for _him_.

“Do you feel _safe_ at home? You and your sister?” Mary asks, so carefully that he can’t help but feel a little sick.

Fred and Mary get into their own spat afterwards, one about interference levels and the police and the town being safe. It all sort of buzzes in Jughead’s peripheral until Archie shows him a new song he wrote about football called _My Team_. It’s terrible and repetitive and actually sort of funny in how cheesy it is. Betty crinkles her eyes and smiles encouragingly, even when Archie changes keys. But her pained hopefulness is enough for them to keep trying for now.

 

“I wouldn’t want…I never want you to do that kind of stuff, Betty. I didn’t know I was hanging out with people who did.”

“I know,” she sighs, picking at fries. He wonders how _long_ she knew. It couldn’t have been from the beginning. “I suspected…but I didn’t know until that night, when Polly told me what your blessing to join would’ve meant. What you being with _Toni_ might’ve meant.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Her gaze stays fixed on the _S_ of his shirt. _I love you._

Chest whirring with the song of a thousand grasshoppers, he takes her hands. “Betty…am I your boyfriend?”

A tear slides down her cheek, teeth catching her lip. “I thought...well, I'd like you to be.”

A disbelieving chuckle crawls out of his throat. “Betty Cooper, will you be my girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

They kiss, the grasshoppers’ song reaching a soothing crescendo before its silenced by a satisfied purr. The rest of the night is spent in each other’s arms, squished together on a blow-up mattress and a promise to the Andrews that they’ll be good. He almost wouldn’t mind if they spend every night that way.

It’s strange, but staying at the Andrews long-term has him missing the sounds of the Coopers fighting next door, the annoying constancy of Pink Floyd playing in the background. He still gets Betty’s pine-scented hugs at school, and instead of wearing his leather she sometimes slides into his spare denim jacket, nuzzling into it like a blanket. Most days he meets her and Archie at their walk to school on his way to Southside, and realizes he’s a fucking idiot not to sign up for this honors program if he ever wants a real chance at getting out.

His parents look dubious when he hands them the permission slip.

“Why do you wanna go there?” Gladys asks, limbs swinging easily as she crosses their tiny kitchen. It’s like she’s torn between sneering and laughing. “Your girlfriend put it in your head that Southside is for slackers?”

“I want to go to college, and I doubt Southside’s after school programs are gonna get me there.”

His father’s eyes light up at _college_. “You keep your head on straight, kid. Use that brain of yours. Maybe join some sports, avoid getting hurt, and you’ll turn out okay.”

FP signs the slip and places it against the S on his chest.

“Good luck, kid. You can come back any time.”

His mother doesn’t extend the invitation.

It’s nerve-wracking, walking into Riverdale High where kids wear v-neck sweaters and sport designer brand everything. Betty must’ve been terrified coming in here with only the briefest hand-holding from Archie. It’s a miracle they didn’t end up together, that she didn’t latch on for a savior. But she’s always been keen on helping herself, even if he doesn’t always give her the space to do it. Betty’s hand stays firmly in Jughead’s, leading him past curious frowns and into the classroom.

“Kevin, it is my pleasure to introduce you to my boyfriend, Jughead.” She squeezes his hand, beaming at him like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her. Dumbfounded, lost in it, he barely notices the tall fellow with the Ken-doll hair cut who extends his hand.

“The pleasure is all mine. Betty here talks about you _nonstop_ , and now I can see why.” The quick, appraising gaze and genial smile makes Jughead feel silly for not taking up Betty on the invitation to meet him at Pop’s.

Riverdale High’s not Jughead’s _style,_ but at least it challenges him in a way that Southside never does. Betty leans forward in her seat, scribbling notes with a focused concentration that makes his mouth tug up in a smile when she’s not looking, because damn it if she isn’t the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Kevin catches him staring and smirks, seeming to approve. It doesn’t really matter though. Archie’s not actually in their first period, but they do sometimes stay for lunch. Riverdale High’s cafeteria is far superior to Southside’s, and that’s what Jug tells Fangs and Sweet Pea when they ask why he’s eating there three times a week.

Toni doesn’t say anything about it, just watches the way Jughead and Betty seem to gravitate towards each other, his hand on her shoulder, her knee in his lap. Maybe he should apologize for bolting so decidedly that night, but he still gets this knotted disgusted feeling in his gut when Toni’s around that makes him crave Betty’s strength to chase it away.

“Relax, Jones,” Toni rolls her eyes, huffing when he tenses as she sidles up next to him to stretch for gym. “I got the message.”

He doesn’t _quit_ the Serpents so much as distance himself. He still goes to the Wyrm on occasion. It’s always during the day, just for an hour or so to shoot pool with some of the gang.

One night they summon him for something _mandatory_ and he shows up and sees Toni shivering on her way up to the stage.

“This is _bullshit,_ ” he hisses to Fangs, who doesn’t look away, but doesn’t seem fine with this either. Jughead storms to the back, where his dad is sipping a beer. “You gonna do something about this?”

“What do you want me to say, Jug? It’s tradition.”

Jughead has a few choice words on _tradition_ , and FP finally works up the balls to stop her before she gets past her underwear, throwing her Serpents jacket on and leading a round of applause. Toni seems grateful, but still humiliated, and Jughead can’t quite work out the knotted feelings in his chest about the whole thing.

When Jughead and Betty make out in her empty trailer, he keeps his hands firmly on her sides, her sweater covering everything that no one else should see. “What’s wrong?” she asks, eyelashes brushes his.

“Nothing.”

But she knows him better than that, so eventually he tells her what happened at the Wyrm. That he’s not sure if he can leave…not totally. That he hopes he can make things better, if only incrementally.

She’s quiet for a while, playing with his fingers, with his hair. There’s a kiss, a long, painful one.

“I want to show you something,” she says, moving into his lap and pulling her shirt over her head. Even though he’s seen her in a bathing suit, the sight of all the milky white flesh sends his heart into his throat. With delicate hands, she takes one of his and places it right in the center of her chest so he can feel her thrum under his touch. “This…is yours. Always.”

The sentimentality of it moves him forward, lips sucking at her neck, her chest. Betty urges him on with little rolls of her hips that further his frenzied need to be inside of her. When she reaches behind her back, he pauses, eyes blown wide, and it feels like his whole life is about to change. Her bra slides forward, her eyes dark and clean. He’s filled with her softness, her giving nature, her supple skin. They crush together so reverently that he thinks they should never _ever_ be apart again.

“Some things might not be able to get better,” she says, staring at the ceiling as his marks bloom on her skin.

“Maybe not. But some things can. With practice,” he grins.

Slowly, surely, they peel away at other layers of each other. She shows him dark marks on her palms, traces the bags under his eyes. He lets her help shape his stories, she buries confessions against his chest. He’ll keep every secret, every scrap of her until they’re ash and dust and can blend together where none of it matters anymore.

Some nights he stays back at the Jones trailer, others he’s actually able to sneak into Betty’s. Polly doesn’t come home all the time. Alice works a lot and takes sleeping pills to knock herself out, so he and Betty are able to explore and comfort each other in ways they usually can’t during the day.

The first time his fingers sink into Betty’s wetness he actually _gasps_. When she sucks him off on the couch his brain stops functioning. But the best is when she lowers herself onto him and he ascends to another plane of existence. They’ve done so much foreplay beforehand that he hopes her orgasms will have made it easier, but he can tell by her expression it still _hurts_ the first time and his heart breaks, even as his nerve endings sizzle in satisfaction. But she tells him to keep going, that if they can get past it, things will feel better. He kisses her and praises her and apologizes until his chest hurts. He just wants to bury himself into her body and shoulder some of the pain so she can feel a bit of his rapture. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to keep himself steady as she stretches to accommodate him. But he _loves_ her, and he’s so grateful when she starts moving, when she’s comfortable. That they’re _together._

 _Craving_ that togetherness never really goes away.

They’re partially clothed, just laying on her couch, tangled together, as his fingers smooth over the soft fabric of his t-shirt on her body.

He kisses her deeply until her leg wraps around his hip and his palm kneads her breast and he has to go lower, her fingers twisting in his hair, tugging and massaging him as he nuzzles the deepest part of her with his tongue and lips.

 _All better,_ he remembers, flicking until her body pulses against him in waves.

Her energy is _everywhere_ , even inside of him _._

 

Improvements come in increments, and not without their setbacks. Alice’s sharp remarks keep FP out of the bottom of the bottle. She’s _extra_ aware of their family connection now that Jughead and Betty are more visibly knotted together. Jellybean disappears into record stores and petty theft, only dragged out of it when Archie starts jamming with her on Wednesdays per Betty’s suggestion. JB develops a crush, even doodling _JB Andrews_ on an old notebook, and Jughead teases her about it for _weeks_.

Gladys asks Betty to help her in a startup garage, where Betty slowly but consistently annoys her with articles on frat initiations and empowerment until she finally agrees to offer an alternative to the Serpent Dance and the Gauntlet. Betty suggests a fire walk with Serpent flair. The Jones’ laugh, wondering where the hell they’re supposed to get that many coals, but change their mind when Jughead says they could dig it out and call it the Snake Pit, bones and actual reptiles interspersed with the fire.

“I’ll be the first one to try it,” Betty offers, not to join the Serpents, just to help. But his parents want it to mean something different, and seem to go out of their way to make it brand her in some way.

Jughead whispers against Betty’s neck that he loves her more than anything. That she doesn’t need to prove anything.

Hell under her feet, Betty takes the test. Sweet Pea’s eager to be one of the guys to spit fire as she passes, and tries to shove her down. Others like Toni flick coal at her until she’s smudged and marked and blistering. At the end, her eyes are blazing, her body bruised, and Jughead wonders if she really did slay the Serpents from what they once were. If he can kill them for what they’ve done to _her_.

Alice holds her daughter so tightly and for so long that Jughead wonders when he’ll get his chance, but eventually he’s allowed to lead her smoking feet into Sweetwater, and he holds her neck as they baptize her in the waters.

“You were always amazing,” he tells her, chest aching with the desire to heal.

“So were you.”

 

Three weeks later he gets into a fight with Sweet Pea and nearly breaks his jaw. Betty wraps his bruised knuckles and watches him like she _knows_.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

But that didn’t make her happy. So he devotes himself to things that do.

 

They consider running away at 18, but they’re still checking their emails and mailboxes for acceptance letters on a daily basis, fingers tightly intertwined and crying and hugging and smiling with every single _yes_ and comforting with cuddles at every _not this time._ She makes them burgers in her bare feet, pressing the patty with the flat edge of a spatula as he smiles at her from his laptop.

They make love often, learning to be quiet, his hand over her mouth until they discover how much fun it can be to bite. Birth control can be expensive, so there are weeks they only use their hands or mouths, eyes wet with the urge to sink into each other fully. “I want to be with you forever,” he whispers, and thinks of a trailer of their own. Or a dorm apartment. A house. Even a cabin. They play with possibilities, wondering if they should get married so they can properly live together sooner rather than later.

For now, they get jobs. Legit ones. Jughead still does minor errands for the Serpents, constantly getting flack for not devoting himself fully. But he has _jobs_. Construction for Mr. Andrews. Projector at the drive-in, the Bijou.

Betty works in Fred’s office, cleaning up and organizing. Her reliability and tenacity eventually wear down Mayor McCoy’s enough to become her private assistant, despite being from the wrong side of the tracks. The Serpents ask her for favors once in a while and she always declines politely, suggesting a different (legal) solution that she assists with in her practically nonexistent spare time. Mary Andrews slips Betty something extra for helping organize case files, and of course there’s the Jones garage.

Jughead works there too, where his sister pops out from under cars in a jumpsuit and a bandana to mimic as close as she can get to Betty’s tattered overalls which have guys like Sweet Pea coming in three times a month for a tune-up to watch her bend over the engine. When the veins in Jughead’s neck feel like tree roots throbbing under his skin, Gladys touches his arm.

“It’s just for the money, baby. She knows what she’s doing.”

He isn’t so sure, and usually keeps a close eye on her. It feels like a few steps away from a Serpent Dance.

They both pick up a weekly Pop’s shift, mostly for the discounts and so they’ll be able to have something good to eat. Pop catches them kissing behind the counter more than once. A lesson about _sanitary practices_ keeps Jughead’s hands wandering to the drawstring of her apron but not onto her skin, not until after their shift when they can push aside the apron and everything else to just have each other.

As it gets closer to making big decisions about their futures, her breakdowns get worse. Her nails bite her palms, open-mouthed sobs wrack through the trailer. Community college makes _sense_. Their dreams are bigger, but they’ll be in debt without family support to back them up.

FP’s been crying when he’s drunk. Gladys has been smoking more, spending time out of trailer and at the garage with Jellybean. Polly’s gotten pregnant on _purpose_ to trap the maple syrup heir. It’s all backfired because his parents said they want the _baby_ but not _her_ , apparently more a fan of _advantageous_ matches that don’t come from a trailer park. Betty’s outwardly more stressed about the baby’s future than anyone.

A deep acidic unease fills his gut as the girls fight. One night she sleeps on the couch, a quiet cue that Polly is in their room and she wants to be with him. He sneaks in, wraps an arm around her waist, and kisses her neck. “Are we staying?” he asks, afraid of the answer. That she’ll push him away. Send him somewhere beyond here while she stays to clean up Polly’s mess. He can’t leave her. It’s…not possible. Even camping trips with Archie leave a hollow ache in his bones after the second day for that feeling of _home_.

She turns to him, eyes shining in the darkness.“Wherever we go, we go together, right?”

“Right.”

He kisses her before he leaves early that morning to fall asleep on their own couch, only to find it occupied by his dad.

His mom is up, makeup smeared from the night before. “Your dad is a real piece of shit,” she sighs, glaring at him over a cup of coffee. “You don’t treat your girlfriend like that, do you, kid?”

“No,” he says, and although he’s not sure exactly what she’s talking about, he remembers the time Betty fell from that tree. When he didn’t catch her. When he couldn’t.

“Good.” Gladys ruffles his hat with finality, like that’s all she needs to know about where he spends his nights, how he’ll live his life. She offers him a cup of coffee.

 

Archie considers moving to Chicago to go to school by his mom, who’s divorcing Fred now that he’s graduating (something that had Betty holding Archie’s hand in concern and Jughead sneaking him in for free movies). Ultimately, Archie chooses New York for its music scene and the models.

“Where to?” Betty and Jughead often ask each other, drawing on the maps they’ve printed and pinned to the Jones Garage cork board.

 _New York,_ they agree.

Betty will be rooming with some brunette girl who scooped her up as a live-in cook. Jughead and Archie are thankful that they’ll be able to room together, even if it is in a shoebox apartment with Kevin (who will undoubtedly be singing show-tunes while Archie plays love songs on his guitar and Jughead rots in some coffee shop while writing his novel and waiting for Betty).

Oddly enough, Betty seems ashamed when Hal rolls up in the truck they restored to load up the car for her move. Hal barely says hello to anyone, just a curt, “Do you have everything you need?” to Betty, who glances at Jughead like she wants to drag him along. Jughead helps, feeling like he’s loading up a piece of his soul in the trunk of the car. They’ve spent the summer saying their goodbyes, however temporary, to the quarry, to the Serpents, to their jobs. But not each other.

The kiss goodbye and “I’ll call you when I get there” don’t feel like enough to sate him. He annoys JB to avoid thinking about the gaping hole in his chest until Betty calls, awkwardly filling him in and giving him a video mini tour of the apartment until a rich Latina in a black dress and pearls trills, “Bettykins! Aw, he’s cute. But it’s time for some serious girl bonding at my favorite restaurant so you can get a better idea of my impeccable taste. Bye, boyfriend!”

He worries about her, but Betty assures him via text that Veronica’s _fine_ and not nearly as imposing as he thinks she is. Begrudgingly, he even follows her on social media so he gets a glimpse of Betty’s life every day. The meals she makes. The people she might see. Anything and everything until he’s able to join her.

Once he gets to New York, the city feels like it’s alive, and he’s just a leech trying to live off of it. He bartends and baristas while Betty seems fully occupied by internships and her private chef/tutoring sessions with Veronica. He and Betty have sex on the plush bedding of her apartment without fear of Archie hearing. They take classes together when they can, binge-watching crime shows and eating takeout on the days of rest.

Veronica and Archie meet and make out at a party, but it never goes beyond that. Archie’s _very_ overwhelmed by the big city and Veronica completely unaffected and Kevin’s starry-eyed over the much improved theater scene. Jughead keeps his S shirts and his head on straight while Betty keeps her hand in his and her eyes on the prize. _Freedom_. It’s so close.

 

Polly’s understandably heavier when they visit, and he tries not to stare or flush, remembering when he used to imagine Betty pregnant and glowing instead of the tenacious girl who passionately betas his novel, indulges his tendencies to have water balloon fights with Archie and his friends, writes essays twice “to get the bad one out,” and who makes sure Veronica has aspirin and water by her bedside after a long night of champagne and dancing.

His fingers twirl the edges of her ponytail as they chat with her family, who not-so-subtly ask if and when they’re moving in together.

After a swift sweep of eye contact, she declares, “We do live together. We just trade off where that is.”

The quarry seems less intimidating as an adult. Jughead stops by the Wyrm for a game of pool and sips root beer with Sweet Pea and Fangs, who have been slowly getting into trades at places like the garage while Fangs takes community college classes to be a nurse.

“You could always come back,” they say, and maybe there is something here.

The south side is a part of his blood. But now he’s on the south side of something else. A new city. A new part of life. The clacking impact of balls shifting into the pockets redistributes his thoughts back to the game, to his friends.

 

“I’m tired of waiting,” he sighs, fingers still sticky with her warmth. “I want all of you, all the time.”

“We can’t,” she sighs, nose nuzzling against his. “The guys would move out if we lived together and Veronica’s not gonna want her personal chef’s boyfriend in the same apartment.”

“You’re her best friend.”

“I know. And you’re mine. But the whole living situation is...complicated.”

They sleep on it.

His heart keeps thrumming, his fingers keep typing, and eventually he has a novel. After the blessing of Betty’s red pen and lips, he starts sending it out to be agented. The rejections sting. Polite, informal things that keep coming weeks and weeks later. He doesn’t have the liberty to give up.

He writes another novel. One that gets coffee stains on its pages, passed over for homework, for nights spent with Betty.

The kiss of approval.

It gets an agent.

It’s not a book deal, but Betty and their whole inner circle go out on a burger tour of the city to celebrate. She kisses his cheeks so often that they’re completely pink and her lips are bare.

Betty seems more on edge than _he_ is, bolting upright in excitement whenever his phone rings. It makes _him_ jumpy, but the enthusiasm is a little contagious. That she has that much faith, that it might happen _now._

 

He lightly tugs on Jellybean’s braid, grinning at the swat she sends at him. “Get your own hair.”

“I have it. For now,” he teases, wrapping his arms around Betty’s waist and indulging in a bit of blonde affection. Her bare hand lays over his own, and he lets that sink in, the honey-warm feeling in his chest that this might be the last time it looks that way.

They go for a walk to Sweetwater, shooting his family a _look_ when they wish him, “Good luck.” Their collection of leather waves goodbye at the door.

If Betty suspects something, she doesn’t say it. He builds a fire, smirking when she _rearranges_ the pyre for maximum effectiveness. She sighs prettily into the quiet, head resting on his shoulder. Knowing the Jones appetite, she asks if they should invite his sister to share their mini adventure, and his heart swells even more.

“For now, let’s have it be just us two. But maybe later,” he promises, lost in her green eyes, his insides stretched with wonder like when they were kids and her foot brushed against his in a wonderful surprise. And it still is. Maybe it always is.

“Betty…” His lips are sticky with marshmallow, with chocolate. Betty laughs and helps him lick his fingers and face clean. They even consider dipping their hands in the river, but he wants to do this now, before anything else. “I love you, Betty Cooper.”

She seems taken aback, flattered by his earnestness, the way he holds her hands in his own. “Jughead Jones, I love you.”

“Will you? Do you?” he asks, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a ring. Her eyes go wide, eyelashes dewed, mouth gasping in immediate relief. The ring doesn’t even matter. She’s just smiling at _him_.

“I do.”

They meet their friends and family at Pop’s, quickly brushing off each other’s backsides of the dirt and twigs and possibly granola crumbs that had been crushed and acquired in their eager celebration.

“I love you,” she repeats in his ear, the metal of her band squeezing against him as their family presses in with congratulations and milkshakes.

He flushes, unable to stop smiling.

Veronica’s weeping happily through her waterproof mascara and Archie strums a song on his guitar that he claims he wrote for them (it sounds suspiciously like a rehashing of something else, but Archie might not even know it). Kevin rolls his eyes fondly, kissing Betty’s cheek before being drowned out by family. Fangs and Sweet Pea shuffle Jughead’s shoulders, rough-housing as usual with their tongues peeking out from behind their teeth to show their approval. Sweet Pea _may_ notice the hickey on Jughead’s neck, the flush of Betty’s chest, but at least he’s less blunt than usual and doesn’t say anything about it.

Oddly enough, the only person they feel awkward saying hi to is Hal, who thankfully did _not_ bring his new girlfriend to Pop’s.

Jughead didn’t quite ask for Hal’s or Alice’s blessing so much as write them a letter of intent. Of promise. That he’d love her forever. Actively, passionately, heart and soul.

“Very romantic,” Alice had needled the next time she’d seen him, trying to pry out details of his plan with her journalistic prowess.

Hal hadn’t said anything, just a simple, “Okay. I’ll be there,” when Jughead had stammered over the invitation to Pop’s for the big occasion.

At some point she gets dragged over to the tell the story, and Jughead warms at the way her eyes shine even brighter than the ring with every animated gesture.

 

Veronica’s only a little bit of a nightmare, wanting the best for _her Bettykins_.

“She’s kinda _my Betty_ ,” Jughead sighs good-naturedly, pulling Betty’s waist tight against his body, even though she’s already sitting in his lap.

“But I’m the maid of honor!”

“Co-maid of honor.”

Rolling her eyes, Veronica perches an elbow on their pristine dining room table and forlornly pores over the materials she’s gathered. Polly hasn’t done much of anything since accepting the co-maid of honor position, which hasn’t exactly surprised anyone. “But there are so many _beautiful_ places in New York.”

“We know, V. And we appreciate it. We just want it to be someplace that speaks to _us_.”

He starts staying over at the girls’ apartments on the regular. Veronica doesn’t really seem to mind, even if she does arch an eyebrow at his eating habits. With a new kind of binder, Veronica offers them the smaller adjacent apartment at a ridiculously low rent. Betty's speechless. Even Jughead joins in with a grateful smile and group hug, grateful for finally having a place to call their own.

Betty’s thrilled, and he catches her fixing up the new apartment in one of his _s_ shirts and her old gym shorts, blonde hair flopping messily on top of her head in the best homecoming he’s ever seen. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifts her up and kisses her until they’ve christened every room with love. Betty hangs framed photos of their friends and families on the wall. The first few times coming home he sort of lingers and stares at them, having never had the luxury of anything like that, besides a singing bass fish his dad had hung up as a joke and entertainment posters him, Archie, and Kevin agreed upon in their respective corners.

But now this is his home.  _Their_ home. Indefinitely.

 

There’s a whistling in his ears when he sees her on the day that seems a little bigger than life. Blonde hair down, some kind of pearls or flowers woven in to accentuate the goddess she is. Eventually something knocks him from behind, reminding him to breathe and swallow the saliva buildup in his mouth before his throat can’t handle anymore. Everything’s strained with beautiful, swelling emotion. Betty’s smile is the only thing he can see behind a slowly blurring lens, and he has to blink to redistribute the water.

He probably squeezes her hand too hard, probably kisses her cheek before he’s supposed to, before her parents have even managed to properly rearrange themselves. But he’s so _ready_ for this. A new, yet not-so-different kind of adventure with the woman he’s been tied to almost all of his life.

 

Betty’s a vision, completely nude, bending over to gather the fancy white lingerie thrown about the room.

“Wait,” he mutters, wiping his hair out of his face.

“Again?” She’s not _against_ the idea, she rarely is. Well, unless he’s been avoiding deadlines, in which case he has to work for it.

“No, I just...you’re beautiful.”

She grins. “You’re pretty sexy yourself, Mr. Jones.”

“Oooh. Call me that again, Mrs. Betty.”

Laughter ricochets off the walls, pinning him with another perfect moment of her that won’t be captured by the photographers or videographers from last night. They’ve held off on officially changing her name for now. It’s secondary to the metal still cool against their fingers, the oaths they made yesterday. Even the pinky promises they made as children.

“I got you something. To wear, if you want to.”

“Do you _want_ me to _wear something_?” Betty slinks into a crawl on their sheets, ass arched in the air, breasts swaying with each move. Those teeth in that lip...that sultry look in her eye...

Gulping, he tries not to get too excited. Because he _does_ want to give it to her. The present. And his body...of course.

Jughead moves quickly, surprising her into sitting back on her knees as he lays the present on the bed. It’s a large, silver box.

Betty slides off the lid and peeks inside. Her lips purse in confused pleasure.

“I brought two of these kinds of things. Do you know why?”

His fingers lace through her silky waves, tracing her jaw until he can tilt her chin up to meet his gaze.

“The _S_ stands for…”

“Significant other?”

“Good...”

"Sweetheart?"

"Yes, dear?"

“Spouse?”

He loves her so goddamn much. His cheeks ache from smiling. “Even better...but what’s something we’ve always been?”

Eyes bright and swimming with puzzle solutions, she studies him. Like so long ago, he presses the tip of his thumb to her lips.

“Soulmates.”

“Juggie!” Her whole face lights up, laughing at his romantic audacity, and it’s not long before she’s knocked him back, crawled into his lap and kissed him until he doesn’t know where he ends and she begins.

**Author's Note:**

> It's up to you if you think he brought two of his S shirts, but the other hypothetical is be brought an S necklace/pendant that may or may not have been swooshed to almost look like an infinity symbol because I am a sap like that. BUGHEAD FOREVER <3
> 
> I was told people prefer one-shots with stories like this. Did it flow for ya? Have any lines or scenes that stood out you wanna throw at me for support? *bats eyelashes* I would be most appreciative! Feel free to drop by my [tumblr](lovedinapastlife.tumblr.com) to say hello.
> 
> How do you think Betty and Jughead might've grown up as neighbors on the south side of Riverdale? My school did have one of those "half-day" programs with a sister school btw. Oh. Well. Another fic idea, wouldja look at that? *resists temptation* So much thanks to my friends [Smudge](thetaoofbetty.tumblr.com) and [bugggghead](bugggghead.tumblr.com) for giving me feedback when I needed it! And to all of you who are so kind on the regular <3
> 
> Thank you for reading, please let me know what you thought, and have a wonderful day!


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